Page 212 of The Encore’s Crown

“Chenda, look at me. Slow breaths. In through your nose.”

Ma clutches Natalia’s hand and sobs harder. I expect the sight of her to break through Rithy’s rage. It doesn’t. His face goes harder, like he's finally reached the place where anger burns hotter than anything else.

“If the only person she gives a shit about is him, maybe it’s a shame she didn’t go with him.”

The words sink in like broken glass. Ma makes a broken sound. Pain flashes across Rithy’s face the instant he hears himself, but he refuses to take it back. He grabs his coat from the chair and nearly drags the entire thing over with it.

“Rithy, leave,” Marisol orders. “Now.”

He shoves one arm into his coat, catches his hip against the tray table, and sends a plastic cup rolling across the floor. His shoulder clips another chair on his way to the door. He knocks it sideways and keeps moving, leaving a trail of noise and disorder behind him like the room has to look as wrecked as he feels. Natalia looks at me from beside the bed. She’s holding Ma upright while Marisol checks the monitors and speaks to her in the calm, measured voice none of us can manage.

“Go,” Natalia says. “I’ve got her.”

For one beat, I’m split between them. Ma sobbing into Natalia’s shoulder. Rithy disappearing through the door after saying something that might haunt him for the rest of his life. Natalia meets my eyes and nods.

I trust her.

Then I turn and go after my brother.

Chapter 73

A Talent Of Mine

Kiri

Rithy is already halfway down the corridor by the time I get through the door.

“Rith.”

He keeps going, coat hanging open and one arm still not properly inside the sleeve.

“Rithy, slow the fuck down.”

“Leave me alone.”

His voice cracks across the corridor. A woman sitting outside another room looks up.

“Keep it down,” I tell him. “Ma’s room is twenty feet away.”

He wheels around without stopping.

“Yeah, I’m aware. I just got thrown out of it.”

He shoves through the stairwell door before I reach him. I follow him down three flights, his footsteps slamming against concrete hard enough to echo. He doesn’t stop until he’s outside and across the hospital grounds, past the signs declaring the entire place smoke-free.

By the time I catch up, he’s found a bench near the sidewalk and a crushed pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket. His hands are shaking too badly to work the lighter. It clicks once, twice, then slips against his thumb.

“Give it to me.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fine.”

On the fourth try, the flame catches. He cups it against the wind and draws in until the end of the cigarette glows. Then he sinks onto the bench, elbows resting on his knees, and blows the smoke high into the darkening sky.

I stand in front of him but he doesn’t look at me. Neither of us speaks while he smokes. The sky above the hospital has turned deep blue, dusk settling over Seattle in cold layers. The April air bites through my shirt, and I realize I came outside without a coat. Rithy takes another drag, watches the smoke unwind above us, then deliberately flicks ash onto my shoe.

I stare down at it.